


Truth or Dare

by HopeCoppice



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crack, Drinking, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Other, They're both so bad at picking names, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 12:43:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20046241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: It's Aziraphale's first time playing Truth or Dare. Crowley has a secret to protect, all the way from the Garden itself.





	Truth or Dare

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry. I don't even know.

When Crowley approaches the Guardian of the Eastern Gate, it is with every intention of pushing the fluffy white bastard off the wall.

"See how _you_ like falling," he intends to say, before the Principality hits the ground. And then the Principality will hit the ground, and Crowley will laugh, an evil and malevolent laugh.

In the event, it doesn’t quite work out as planned.

* * *

It seems like such a harmless idea. An idle temptation, now that the world hasn’t ended.

“You’ve never played Truth or Dare before? How long have we been friends, and I’ve never made you play Truth or Dare? See, how it works is-”

“I know how it _ works _, Crowley.” Aziraphale looks annoyed, or possibly he’s just having trouble focusing; they’ve had quite a lot to drink. “I’ve just never played it myself, before.”

“But you will now. Come on, angel, let me tempt you.”

“Must you _ say _ that every time?”

“No. I just enjoy it.”

They toss a coin for first go, and Crowley pretends to be surprised by the outcome as Aziraphale’s face lights up in triumph.

“Ha!” It’s as if he’s won the whole game, which is… Crowley’s going to let him have that little victory, because there’s no winning in Truth or Dare, just chaos. “Truth or Dare, Crowley?”

“Truth,” he chooses, because anything Aziraphale dares him to do is bound to be as dull as anything and he can’t be bothered to get up. Besides, anything Aziraphale thinks to ask him is bound to be pathetic and inoffensive, too.

“Ah! Er. Let me think…” He does, for some time. “What do you think of Gabriel?”

Crowley doesn’t hesitate before letting loose a string of profanities and insults that would make Beelzebub blush. They certainly shock Aziraphale.

“What? You asked for the truth! Your turn, now, angel. Truth or Dare?”

“Oh. Er. Truth.”

“Alright.” He frowns, thinking hard. It’s Aziraphale’s first game, after all, and he doesn’t want to destroy him with difficult questions at the outset. “A.Z. Fell. What does the A stand for? And I know it’s not Aziraphale.”

“I… do I have to answer?”

“Unless you want to do a dare, which… I mean, you’ve met me. Do you really want to risk it?”

“It’s…” This is unexpected; Aziraphale is turning bright red. He doesn’t catch the mumbled word.

“Sorry, what was that, angel? Didn’t quite catch it.”

“_ Anthony! _ It’s Anthony, OK?” Aziraphale buries his face in his hands. “Somebody asked, and I panicked.”

“So you stole my name?”

“Not intentionally! Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” It’s going to get boring, sooner or later, but for now, Crowley is very attached to his position on the sofa. “And before you waste your question, here’s a freebie; it really _ is _just a J.”

That seems to put paid to Aziraphale’s immediate plans; he has to think about his question.  
“Fine. Then what were you thinking, coming up to me on the wall of Eden?”

“What was I thinking?”

“Yes. I should have discorporated you, there and then. You couldn’t know I wouldn’t. So what were you thinking?”

This is a little more challenging than Crowley had anticipated, but at least the answer isn’t embarrassing.  
“Let’s think… Oh! Yes. I was thinking, _ I’m going to push that white fluffy bastard off the wall and see how _ he _ likes falling. _ ” Aziraphale’s face falls, and Crowley feels a surge of guilt. “I didn’t know you then. And you _ were _white and fluffy.”

“Then why didn’t-?”

“Nope! My turn.” He feels bad about his last answer, though, so when Aziraphale opts for a truth, he goes for a soft question again. “What’s the Z for?”

“Crowley!”

“I don’t think that’s it, no Z in it for one thing.” Not that the idea of Aziraphale going by ‘Anthony Crowley Fell’ isn’t amusing.

“I mean- why do you have to ask such embarrassing questions?” And if Crowley had harboured even the slightest inclination to drop his current line of questioning, it vanishes like smoke.

“What _ does _it stand for?”

“Well- if you must know- it’s… and I only said it once, and that was easily sixty years ago, so it’s not as if anyone remembers, I could change it if I wanted…” Crowley waits out the flustered silence, and is rewarded. “Zanthony.”

“_Anthony Zanthony _ Fell!” It’s like all Crowley’s birthdays rolled into one, if birthdays were a thing he celebrated, or indeed _ had_. “Oh, angel.”

“I _ panicked_. Truth or dare.” The angel sounds grumpy, now. Crowley takes a very long drink from a nearby bottle and decides that he can give him this one.

“Truth. Go on, ask.”

“Why _ didn’t _ you push me off the wall? I was there, you didn’t even try.”

Crowley falters; he is now very slightly too drunk to be sensible, but not too drunk to know that. He was expecting Aziraphale to ask him what the J stood for, honestly. It would have evened them out nicely.

“Ngk. Well. When I got closer, I suddenly remembered that flaming sword of yours. Didn’t seem like a good idea to just run up and give you a shove if you were going to turn round and stab me for it.”

“So _ that’s _ why you looked so happy when I said I’d given it away?”

“No, no. That’s why I was happy that you _ lost _ it. That you _ gave it away _, bonus.” Crowley snorts. “That’s two, now. You owe me one. You’d better pick.”

“Oh, truth, I suppose.”

“Did you mean what you said, when you said we weren’t friends?” He means it to sound casual, but judging by the angel’s expression he’s missed the mark. He’d leave, just get up and walk out, but his limbs don’t feel entirely attached right now. He drinks, instead, and waits for the answer.

“Of course not! We _ are _ friends - we’re so much _ more _than friends!”

“Eternal enemies,” Crowley slurs, without enthusiasm, “‘course.”

“_ Best _ friends,” Aziraphale corrects him, “at the very least.”

The silence hangs in the air, along with a huge amount of tension and, probably, a knife to cut it with. Crowley squints, then takes his glasses off. No. The knife is a smudge. But the silence and the tension definitely hang. He sets his glasses aside.

“Er… truth or dare?”

Crowley is vaguely aware that it’s still Aziraphale’s turn - he owes him one, for… some reason… but he’s too lazy to argue about it.

“Truth.”

“Why didn’t you push me off the wall, once you knew I didn’t have my sword?” 

Crowley thinks; searches his brain for any truthful reason he can offer the angel without admitting the deeper truth. He comes up blank, but he can hardly tell Aziraphale that it was too late for him by then, that he was already hopelessly in love with him.

“Dare,” he mumbles at last, “but if it invloves- invloss- if it means moving, I’m gonna have to sober up a bit.”

“Can you do that? Just change your answer, like that?”

“Sure.” Crowley is not, in fact, sure. “Go on, dare me to do something.”

“I dare you to sober up.”

“What? That’s not a dare.” Aziraphale looks nervous; he’s doing all those _ things _he does with his face when he’s nervous, and that’s what convinces Crowley that he ought, just for once, to do as he’s told. “Gah. Ugh. Why do we do that to ourselves?”

“I owe you a truth,” Aziraphale tells him quietly, the hint of a grimace suggesting that he’s sober now too. “If you want to hear it.”

“Got something in mind, have you, angel?” He’s mildly curious; Aziraphale seems to have a bee in his bonnet. He’d probably suit a bonnet. Crowley frowns and sobers up a little more; all the alcohol seems to have left his system now.

“Er. Yes. I, er, I’ve been trying to work out the right way to tell you something, ever since… well, after the trials, really, and I couldn’t find the right way, and this _ isn’t it _ but at least I _ know _that-”

“Angel.” Crowley’s frightened, now, afraid that this is it. The big farewell, the moment Aziraphale tells him he’s too much of a demon to be friends with after all and runs away forever. ”You don’t have to-”

“I’m in love with you, Crowley.” It’s almost apologetic, and Crowley can’t even react. He stares, uncomprehending, until the angel’s blush begins to resemble one of those hideous cherubs they put on Christmas cards. Except, of course, that Aziraphale could never be hideous. He is, however, clearly uncomfortable, his voice barely a whisper as he continues. “Have been for… ages, really.”

“Truth,” Crowley blurts, “ask me why I didn’t push you.”

“Why-?”

“I fell in love with _ you _ the moment you said you’d given her your sword.” He gasps, shocked despite himself at the words falling from his own lips. “Shouldn’t have been possible, but I did.”

The silence is back, but this time the tension is a prickling of excitement that warms Crowley from the inside out.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale ventures, when he manages to get his breathing under control, “Do I- that is- do I have to dare you to kiss me?”

He very much does not.


End file.
